


A Respite

by BishopDeaconCardinal



Series: A Bad Idea, Probably [4]
Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Blow Jobs, Dom/sub Undertones, Drinking, Hand Jobs, M/M, Rimming, Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 04:47:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22844290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BishopDeaconCardinal/pseuds/BishopDeaconCardinal
Summary: Carrington doesn't expect Deacon to be there but he never expects him. In hindsight he should have seen this coming.
Relationships: Doctor Carrington/Deacon (Fallout)
Series: A Bad Idea, Probably [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1590382
Comments: 16
Kudos: 32





	A Respite

**Author's Note:**

> did you know Carrington has two tags? A Doctor Carrington and a Stanley Carrington? Amazing.
> 
> Edit: I accidentally tagged this Major Character Death?? Omg no????? That's not here.

Climbing to the top of the building beside the back entrance of HQ wasn’t something to be advised. Especially with the knowledge of tetanus, falling and breaking something, and knowing that he was HQ’s best trained doctor and therefor indispensable. And yet. 

He misses sunsets. In HQ, time is irrelevant as agents stumble in with news of the outside,the latest dead drop, or worse, trying to not bleed out on his desk. On-call couldn’t be a term applied when there was never a time to be off. 

Climbing to the top of a building to smoke was one thing, to drink and then climb back down? Awful, horrible idea. But Fixer figured herself some kind of medic so if Carrington did fall on his way back down he could test her skills. 

Hopefully not, but still. 

As she rests from their latest mission below, he figures this was his one opportunity. 

At the top of the fire escape he hoists his backpack over the lip of the roof he hears a near silent movement in response. He sighs. If it was birds they would have taken off by now. And it’s not often birds take a moment to flick off the safety of their guns. 

He waits a long moment. Waiting for them to shoot. 

So not a raider. Didn’t demand to know who it was, so not a gunner or scaver. 

And what other person would find the one place he enjoys to claim it as their own.

If he wasn’t hanging onto the side of a very questionable fire escape he would have probably taken a moment to rub at his temples. “Deacon,” he says just loud enough to be heard over the edge. 

And over the edge did Deacon appear, “Doc?”

Carrington finishes the climb and observes the set up Deacon has. There’s a blanket and a radio at a low volume like he had this all planned. He frowns, “What exactly are you trying to accomplish by being up here?”

He pushes his stupid sunglasses up his nose, “For once, Carrington, I genuinely have no clue what you mean.”

Carrington doesn't believe him. He stomps across the roof to an overturned vent and flips it the right way, a lunchbox clattering into his hands. He forces it into Deacon’s hands, “Clearly you knew that I sometimes come up here.” 

Deacon opens the lunchbox, the cigarettes Carrington prefers and lighter fluid get pushed around as Deacon explores the snacks and scraps of paper pushed into it. He laughs an airy delighted laugh that Carrington hasn’t heard before. “Seriously? No clue this was here. I mean this is obviously your handwriting so if I had found it, sure, but honestly? No clue.” his expression changes to a pained one, “Some spy I am, yikes.”

Carrington takes the lunchbox from him and frowns, “Then why?”

Deacon looks sheepish, a strange look on Deacon, “I uh, also come up here sometimes.” And to Carrington’s horror he pushes over an ancient AC unit to reveal a small stash similar to Carrington’s. 

Carrington does scoff at his cigarette choice, “Menthols? Really? We are smoking in some strange defiance that mankind has survived the world ending and you chose menthols?”

Deacon frowns, “Hey, real quick?” he sets the AC unit back down, “Fuck you.”

Carrington rolls his eyes and goes back over for his pack, “Look, I just came up here to relax. If you could do me a merciful favor and stop being so-” he gestures to all of Deacon, “Yourself,” Deacon gasps in mock incredulity, “I’d greatly appreciate it.”

“Yes of course. Because I just came up here to practice my asshole doctor impression.” and Carrington thinks he’s going to mock his speech patterns or phrasing but instead Deacon just looks at him and says, “I’m Carrington and I’m a fucking dick.”

And for some reason that strikes Carrington as extraordinarily funny. He bites his lips in an attempt not to laugh. It’s not a good joke, not even that funny in delivery, but the fact Deacon’s saying it defensively while pointing at him in a very genuine, agitated gesture has him doing his best not to laugh. 

Deacon catches his attempt at muffling his own response and smiles a softer smile then normal, “Yeah? Is that what got you?”

Carrington breaks a little and laughs into his palm. It’s childish but it does feel strangely good.

Deacon rolls his eyes as a return gesture, clearly imitating Carrington from earlier, and takes Carrington’s bag from him, “Look if you want to just sit here, let’s just sit here. Also I heard glass in here. Nuka cola? I ran out of water and that sounds fantastic.” And he’s sitting on the blanket but he’s left enough room for Carrington as well. 

Carrington lowers himself and waits until he hears Deacon unzipping it before filling him in on the contents, “Bourbon.” 

Deacon makes an affirming noise and continues digging. 

“I don’t know past that. I just take that one with me when I leave HQ and never really clean it out-” he gets cut off by a bottle of lube hitting him in the chest, “Yes. That’s in there too. Are you hinting you want to be fucked?”

“Are you?”

Carrington ignores him and reaches out for the bourbon. 

Deacon wiggles his eyebrows and Carrington throws one of the packs of menthols at him. 

"Woah, hey. No. These are hard to find." Deacon reaches around him and pushes the rest into his bag like Carrington wanted to take them.

"Why?"

"I don't smoke them,  _ Stanley.  _ I save them." 

He follows up with lobbing the lube at him next, "A snack for later?"

Deacon laughs, "God, yeah. That first bite of all filters? Delicious." he mines crunching down on the box and Carrington huffs a small laugh. 

Carrington knows Deacon's deflecting. But right now he doesn't have the energy to pick it apart. Instead he takes a long pull of bourbon.

Deacon does light a cigarette, not a menthol, and pulls his knees up to rest his elbows on, "So what brings you to this neck of the woods." 

Carrington gestures with the bottle at the sun slowly making its way to set, "That. Gets a bit unnerving being underground so long." 

"Aw, you didn't just miss me? Other than the fact you clearly didn't know I was here?" He takes the bourbon bottle from Carrington and Carrington retaliates by taking his cigarette. 

Deacon doesn't seem to mind the swap as he takes a swig. He's quiet a moment and Carrington thinks, delightfully, it might be from him not trying to cough. "You know," he stops and clears his throat then continues, "You know what didn't age well at all? Liquor." 

Carrington feels genuine pleasure that he was right, "Oh no?" 

Deacon puts the cap on loosely and slides it back towards him and Carrington relents his smoke to take the bottle back. 

They sit in silence for a bit, the radio quietly filling the air between them. The lack of constant commentary from Deacon being so out of character he almost checks to make sure he's still breathing. One quick glance quickly shows he seems to be just as wrapped up in the sun setting as he was before he thought to check. 

"It's pretty, isn't it?" 

"Yeah, you are," Deacon looks at him quickly, "Oh no! Did I say that out loud? Yikes, guess you'll never forgive me for being so forward." he's got a teasing lilt around his words. 

Carrington doesn't bother laughing, but he does give him a small smile. 

The sun sinks and the glow of Deacons second cigarette remains the only light. He stretches, "So this has been positively domestic. Can I suck your dick now?"

Carrington let his head fall forward into his hands, "This was a nice moment, Deacon."

He points the hand with the cigarette in it "Hear me out, Stanley, it could be nicer if your dick was in my mouth." 

"First, my name isn't Stanley. It's a very long story and if you are half the spy you pretend to be, you could probably have it figured out by tomorrow. Second," he pauses and waits for Deacon to gesture at him again to continue before smacking the upturn of Deacon's hand and letting the cigarette fall onto the blanket.

Carrington picks it up as Deacon whines and peels up the edge of the blanket. He looks at Carrington through the tiny hole burned through it while Carrington took another pull from the bourbon and hit off his cigarette. 

"You're a terrible example as a Doctor. Also," he looks angrily at Carrington through the hole, "This was my favourite blanket. I had it for a whole day and I was thinking of growing an emotional attachment to it," he whines again, "And you ruined it."

He puts it out as it burns down to the filter, he knew he had waited too long to steal it, but he'd been biding his time, "I'm sure I can make it up to you." 

Deacon drops the blanket, "Oh-ho? Flipping the script, Doc?" 

Carrington leans back on his elbows, maybe he was drunk. He wasn't sober but he knew himself well enough to be able make this choice. 

Deacon looks over the top of his sunglasses, "Were you serious just now? Because I've got a semi forming with your name on it. Or possibly nothing to address if I'm reading this wrong." 

Carrington takes one more swig and rolls over on top of Deacon. When had Deacon gotten close enough for him to do that? 

It doesn’t matter, "Ask me." He reaches forward and takes off Deacon's sunglasses. 

Deacon's eyes follow his movements, and even in the dark of night he can catch the blueness of them, "I thought you were making it up to me."

Carrington smiles, maybe he is drunk, "You're a smart lad, Deacon. Figure it out."

He looks at Carrington slightly confused and more then startled as Carrington hovers over him. 

His eyes light up in understanding and Carrington tilts his head sideways at him, encouraging him to share with the class. 

"Would you suck me off?" 

Carrington rewards him with unbuttoning the top button of Deacon's shirt. 

"Please?" 

Oh doesn't he sound lovely when he begs. 

He finishes unbuttoning his shirt and pushes it off Deacon's shoulders. He starts on his belt with such a lack of urgency that Deacon rolls his hips trying to get friction. 

Oh he was enjoying this, "I'm not entirely sure why I'm doing this. You don't deserve this." 

"You ruined my blanket-"

"Hardly."

"You  _ ruined _ my blanket," he repeats, "And you're making it up to me."

"And yet," Carrington pops the button on Deacon's trousers and slowly pulled the zipper down, " _ You're _ asking  _ me _ ."

He hears the click of Deacon's throat as he swallows. 

Carrington strokes him through his underwear almost boredly, regardless Deacon sucks in a sharp breath at the contact. He moves down and leans on an elbow and looks up at Deacon, "Well?"

"Well?" Deacon parrots. 

"I remember being down here for some reason but can't quite recall whatever that was. Why don't you remind me." he twists his wrist right at the end of the stroke and Deacon gasps. 

Deacon's hands ball into fists by his side "Could you suck me, please?"

"Hmm. Ask me again. You sound so pretty when you do." and he repeats the wrist motion. 

"Fuck, doc, I'd ask if I could fuck you but I don't think you'd let me. Just touch me?" He gasps again and that wasn't at all what Carrington had been asking for. 

He places a kiss on the head anyway. Look at him, rewarding bad behavior. He will never learn this way. 

Some part of him hopes that to be true.

"Maybe," he keeps his tone as bored as his pace, "It's been a long time since I've done that." he lazily drew his tongue up the side of his prick. 

"Since David?" 

Carrington jumps back like he'd been burned, "Disgusting, no."

Deacon leans up on his elbows, "What?" 

Carrington thinks if he hadn't had his dick out he might have been able to piece this together, "It's probably not best to mention my  _ dead son  _ when I have your cock in my hand."

Deacon sits up more fully, "I have ruined the mood, huh?"

Carrington sits up as well. He considers his options. One of the most prominent being that he would have to crawl over the building ledge to get back on the fire escape and he wasn't confident in his agility at the moment. "Or."

Deacon eyes once again light up, "Or I could make it up to you."

  
  


Carrington leans back as Deacon shifts and moves over him, "I think you could."

Deacon settles on Carrington's hips and starts at his shirt buttons, "You know, it's weird seeing you out of your lab coat." 

Carrington scoffs, "I own other clothes. Deacon."

"Yeah but maybe I want to see you in the lab coat, and only the lab coat." 

He reaches up and places a hand on Deacon's chest causing him to pause where he was mostly done unbuttoning, "If you say something that stupid again, I will literally push you off this roof." 

Deacon shrugs and concedes, seemingly apologising with a bite to Carrington's ear.

Carrington sighs and pulls Deacon down against him tighter. Deacon takes this as an opportunity to bite at his neck. 

Deacon's mouth nips and worries at his throat, his hands reaching for Carrington's belt. 

Carrington groans, a little looser and a little more shameless then normal and thinks back to that last swig of bourbon fleetingly. 

Deacon gets his belt undone but doesn’t proceed with the button, instead he lays his palm flat against where he's found new interest in proceedings. 

He always did have a weak spot for his neck. Biting? Kissing? Weak spot.

He grinds against that hand for a moment before realizing he's doing a lot of the work right now. 

"Lazy," he says in a breathy exhale. 

Deacon gasps, "Lazy?" he sounds distraught even as he moves to unbutton Carrington's pants, "Wow," he shoves his hands into his underwear without preamble past his earlier teasing, "Why I never."

Carrington groans as Deacon works him over. He closes his eyes a moment and listens to Deacon's breathing. Even though he was the one being touched, Deacon’s was just as fast as Carrington's. 

He arches his back into Deacon's hand and even before he opens his eyes again he knew Deacon looked smug. 

"I may be rude, but you're eager. What, do you think I should make you ask? How does that sound?" He moves back off Carrington and grabs a handful of his belt, pants, and underwear next to his hips and pulls them down forcing Carrington to raise his hips. 

He complies and allows Deacon to, before watching him get stuck on his shoes. Carrington looks down at him and raises an eyebrow, adopting a bored look only betrayed by his achingly hard cock next to where Deacon's pulling his trousers down his legs. 

"Yes, I know. I'm sorry. I never think ahead ok I think-"

"There is a head you're thinking with but it's not the correct one." 

Deacon pauses where he was working off his one shoe, "Ok now you are tempting fate that I'm not about to throw you off the roof." He leans up and briefly wraps a hand around the base of Carrington's dick before pulling the head into his mouth. 

Carrington groans and pushed his hand into Deacon's hair, brown this time. He was getting used to Deacon’s mouth and he doesn't know that is a particularly good thing. 

"Deacon please, just-" 

Deacon pulls off and smiles, "Did you say please? You're going soft on me, Carrington." 

Carrington pushes his erection into Deacon's hand, "Hardly."

Deacon gets his other shoe off and pulls the rest of the clothing off Carrington's bottom half. Deacon moves to push Carrington's leg over his shoulder. 

"What's your plan?" Careington asks before Deacon surprises him farther by moving his other over his other shoulder. 

"Ask me again." 

"Deacon that's not even slightly how this works." 

Deacon sighs, "You'll never learn that I never know what game we are playing." 

Which Carrington really, really wants to dissect but Deacon bypasses his dick and sinks down to lick at his hole. 

Carrington makes a startled noise before forcing himself to relax into it. 

He'd forgotten this feeling. It wasn't necessarily a bad feeling, just foreign. One that he remembers becoming pleasurable especially when-

Yes. That.  _ Fuck. _

When Deacon's tongue breaches him he tenses his calves around Deacon's shoulders. 

"Fuck, Deacon-," he groans. 

"Nope, other way around." Deacon chuckles and bites his thigh 

Carrington groans again but this time it's in annoyance. He pulls Deacon's head back down and Deacon laughs again and bites his thigh in response before continuing.

Carrington shivers when Deacon's other hand ghosts over his balls and reaches back to his cock. 

He strokes in time to his tongue thrusting into Carrington. His tongue traces his rim and Carrington spreads his legs a little wider. 

Deacon stops and moves away for a moment and Carrington looks up sharply to track his movements at the loss of contact. 

Deacom scrambles across the roof and back with the lube. 

"You won't be able to fuck me," and he thinks his tone would sound more rigid if he his voice hadn't hitched a little at the end when Deacon's hand returns to touching him.

"Because you're unfuckable?" 

Carrington would have scoffed but Deacon was pushing on his right hip. He moves with the pressure and realises that being on his hands and knees wasn't great on a thin blanket on cement. When Deacon's tongue returns he finds he doesn’t mind so much. 

"We just- fuck- don't have the time," and he's not proud of how he sounds like he's panting. He's not quite yet but still. 

  
  


Deacon pulls back and Carrington hears the click of the cap on the lube close, "What do you mean?" he feels Deacon's clean hand move to hold him open, and quite frankly that should be embarrassing but for some reason at the moment it's not. Liquor or lust? "We have all the time in the world. Just you, me, and a group of people who will go looking and find us if we are gone too long." 

Carrington heard the sentence but didn't really register it. Deacon had pushed a finger in while speaking. 

He hadn't realised just how much stretching Deacon had achieved with his tongue. 

He gasps when Deacon pushes forward  _ just right _ . 

Carrington's fingers grasp the blanket and belatedly he felt the skin on his knuckles tear on the cement. 

"Deacon-,"

Deacon sighs, "Yeah, yeah. I know. Timing. Besides I mostly wanted to do this," and he leans forward and lavishes Carrington's balls while the other hand finds his prick again and matches the rhythm the hand inside him has set. 

Carrington takes a shamelessly minimal amount of time with all three sensations at once. He knows he will think on it later, eyes closed and brow wrinkled in frustration. At that moment he is too busy forgetting everything he's ever learned including but not limited to his own name. 

He feels Deacon's hands and mouth leave him and he pushes himself to fall on his side while he tries to regain his breath back. 

He glances down himself in time to see Deacom taking himself in hand and come almost entirely quiet. His breathing was heavier but otherwise he hasn't made a sound. 

Carrington swallows and sits up, looking for his clothes while Deacon plays catch up in recovering. 

He manages to get mostly dressed,his shoes still unlaced on his feet. 

Deacon seems to come back to himself while Carrington's threading his belt back through the loops. "I would have helped, you know." 

Deacon looks at him a moment before tucking himself away, "No. Didn't know that actually."

Carrington knew how he came off to most people but he thought at the very least Deacon knew he was good for reciprocation. 

He wads up Deacon's blanket and hands it to him, burned and covered in come he hopes Deacon realises it’s not worth saving. 

Deacon takes it with a frown, "You owe me a blanket."

"I owe you no such thing." 

Deacon throws it off the roof and salutes "May he rest in peace." 

Carrington rolls his eyes and starts packing up his stuff. Apparently a quick way to feel less drunk was to come hard he enough he fears he may have pulled something. 

"You know," Deacon starts on the other side of the roof where his things were, "You're really noisy when you bottom."

" _ Deacon,"  _ he hopes Deacon could see a clear warning sign when presented with one. 

He continues packing, "I didn’t super appreciate that when you came you called my name." 

Carrington finishes gathering his things and glances over the edge of the roof at the fire escape, "Most people enjoy that." He also had no idea what he'd said. 

"Yeah well, you called my real one, pal. And I thought we agreed on never doing that." He is behind Carrington when he turns back from peering over the edge. 

Guilt curls in his stomach. It would have been entirely accidental if he had. "I didn't mean to."

He pushes his sunglasses into place, "Well you did."

Carrington swings a leg over the edge in silence as he contemplates that. He realises Deacon is waiting for him to speak. 

"Sanjay." 

Deacon raises an eyebrow.

"I'm not giving you more than that. Not why I go by Stanley and nothing more. Now we are even." he pulls his other leg over and falls the short distance onto the fire escape

He looks up at Deacon who has a horribly impish smile. 

Fuck.

_ Fuck. _

He balls his hands into fists and yells back, "You little shit! I didn't say anything of the sort when I came!" 

Deacon cackles and Carrington seethes. 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on Twitter @BDeCardinal
> 
> Come talk to me! If you want! I'm not your parent, do what you want!


End file.
